Cycle of Poverty
by Chephirah95
Summary: East Side Tulsa is a tough place to live. This story is a series of one-shots about the effects of living in poverty as told through the eyes of the gang and some of Tulsa's toughest females.
1. Darry

_Everybody needs a little help sometimes. It's just that_ _ **knowing**_ _you need help is the easy part._ _ **Asking**_ _for help is where it gets tricky._

 **DARRY**

The office smells like peppermints. There is a check-in station and two doors down the small hallway. The seats in the waiting area are so close that people are practically sitting on top of each other. The cliché potted plants sit in each corner of the room. I waited 36 minutes until my name was called.

"Darrel Curtis?" I got up to follow the case worker. She introduced herself as Mrs. Davis. I followed her into her tiny office and sat in the too small chair. Her desk was decorated with pictures of her husband and children. I noticed her degree on the wall was from Oklahoma State. She noticed me looking and smiled while she asked me if I was a student there. College has always been a sore spot for me. From a young age I knew that I wanted to go, and from an even younger age I knew that I would never be able to afford to. I shook my head.

"Well, I've looked over your application and it appears that you are eligible for welfare. We checked with your jobs - only to ask how much you make and how many hours you usually work- and everything panned out." I'm sure she was used to people getting frustrated when they realized that other people could possibly find out they were on welfare. But at this point, I just needed to be able to feed my little brothers. I nodded my head in understanding. She smiled with relief.

"As I was saying, everything checked out and, with you supporting two minors your checks should help a little. I must warn you, with you working two jobs you could possibly lose your welfare or it could be lessened at a moments notice if you start making too much. Of course, if you find a better paying job, you should take it. After all, welfare is to help temporarily. It's not meant to be a permanent fixture." She waited to see if I was following along.

"Will my social worker need to be notified by me that I'm receiving welfare?"

"No. Our agency works pretty closely with Child Protective Services, and if you are on welfare then your name will be on file in their system as well as ours." She hesitated.

"Mr. Curtis, you won't lose custody of your brothers because you are on welfare if that's your concern. Many people in the system are on welfare and no government agency, by law, can discriminate against them because of it."

That _was_ my concern. I relaxed a little when she said that.

"Do you have any more questions? If not, you can sign the final paperwork and be on your way."

I signed the papers and breathed a little easier when she didn't look down on me for being in her office. I didn't want her, or anyone else, to think I was nothing but a lazy low-life who was cheating the system. After she filed my case I walked outside and headed to the truck. Mrs. Davis came out running behind me.

"Mr. Curtis! I forgot to mention the periodic check ups. Every other month you will get either a visit from the welfare office just to stay notified of your situation, or a simple call to keep us updated on how things are going." I thanked her, got into my pickup, and headed home.

On my way there I thought about how difficult it was for me to be considered for welfare at all. If I wasn't truly desperate I would have never tried. They typically look for unwed mothers and widows. But I was a "special case". They help displaced workers who are the head of their households, but not very often. Usually these men make enough to support their families if their wives work part-time. More women were on it because they get lower wages. Mom used to get upset thinking about it, and I can't help but regret that I always thought she was slightly over-exaggerating. When college students started protesting on campus about the _Feminine Mystique_ , and wage gap's, I was only annoyed that it seemed to be on every channel. I guess it took me being in the position I'm in now to understand how that could be a big problem. Especially for the women in our neighborhood, and with the way Soda attracts girls, he had better always use protection.

"Why are you so late today?"

I just gave Soda a look that let him know I would tell him later. I heard Pony huff under his breath. I know he thinks he's old enough to be let in on everything, but at 14 I was worried about football and girls. Not money. He deserves the same thing.

Honestly, if I earned enough and Soda didn't have to work, I wouldn't tell him either. 16 ain't so old either.


	2. Sylvia

_Sylvia's mom teaches her a lesson. She's just not sure what she's supposed to be learning._

 **Sylvia**

Today is one of my mother's random lessons. I used to be so excited for these as a kid. It was the only time she ever paid attention to me. She used to flat out ignore me. Complain about how I made it harder for her to hustle. I guess when I got old enough to be considered girly, she realized she could pass something down to me.

" _Remember Sylv. Always keep two guys._ _ **Only**_ _two guys. Men are like animals. They thrive on competition. Get one, find his equal, and the rest will fall into place. Before you know it, they'll be fighting to keep you in their lives. It's a pride thing."_

I always wondered if my mother had any pride in herself. For the longest time I never knew what her job was. She would be gone for hours, sometimes days, and then come traipsing back through the door as if she had never left. Like I didn't need her here to help me get dressed in the morning, to fight off the advances of the older boys in front of our building, to use the stove for the precooked meals she left me. I would always just smile and be happy that she was there _now_.

" _Remember Sylv. Men like a little trouble in their women. It's all push and pull. Push them away enough for them to want to come back on their own._ "

The thing is. I doubt she's ever considered that I don't want to push anyone away. That anyone who would willingly enter my life was good enough for me. I can't afford to push anyone away. I don't have the right.

It doesn't matter that she just helped me dress like a typical greaser girl. Too high heels, too much makeup, and too little clothing. It doesn't matter that I don't feel like doing this. That I would rather find Dally and just keep a low profile for the day.

I bring Dallas over all the time. My mother thinks she knows why I date him. Because Dally is the top dog around here. She thinks she knows why I brought Tim over once too. Because he's Dally's equal. But that's not it. Dally is safe. He'll never be able to leave me because he'll never be mines. He doesn't belong to anyone.

Dally lives with his dad. No mom in the picture. He doesn't trust women, but at the same time believes that if he had a mom she would care. The more I expose him to my mom, the more he thinks he understands why I am the way I am.

Tim gets it. Tim lives with his mom. No dad in the picture. He knows what it's like to have a mom who has to rely on men. How humiliating it is because you know what she does to get her money. How shameful it is when she brings them home and they smile at you like they didn't just take another piece of her. How mad it makes you that you can't do anything about it. Tim pities me.

"Okay Sylv. You're all ready."

My mother is smiling at me. Like I'm living up to everything she ever planned for me. And I smile back because this is as close as we'll ever get. This is as much as she'll ever care.


	3. Johnny

_It hurts to be ignored but it hurts even more to be forgotten._

 **Johnny**

" _one, two, three …"_

It takes my mom 13 steps to get to my room. It takes my dad 9. I'm hoping the steps go past nine today because my left side still burns from yesterday. I've been sitting in the same position for over 8 hours now. My dad made me stand up straight while he kept hitting me in the side with the mop handle. If I bent over or moved away, he started over. The thing is, he never told me how many he was counting to. He just kept saying he was starting over.

" _four, five, six…"_

Dad drinks so much that he often forgets that he already punished me the day before. The first time they kicked me out of the house I was 8. I wandered around for 2 days before I got so scared of being on my own, that I went back. When I made it inside I was ready to beg for their forgiveness. To promise them that I would be better. My dad didn't even acknowledge me. My mom just asked why I was late home from school. It was after 9 p.m. in June. I realized then that they never remembered when they punished me.

It must be why they punished me everyday.

" _seven, eight…"_

 _Author's Note *** More characters perspectives to come. This story will just be several one-shots that give you a more holistic view of the book's characters. Feel free to comment._


	4. Angela

_When your provider is out of the picture, you have to get what you need your own way._

 **Angela**

Tim is in the cooler, Curly is gone on business, and Ma is out searching for a new man to lie to her. It's why I have the house to myself today. Not that today is special or anything. I usually have it to myself during the day. When I skip school. Which is pretty often because nobody around here cares about it one way or the other.

Sometimes I tell myself that I'll wake up tomorrow and do better. That I'll wear longer skirts. That I'll stop annoying Tim. That I'll go to school and actually pay attention. But then tomorrow comes and it gets harder to lie to myself.

I go into the kitchen already knowing that there won't be any food. There's never any food unless Tim gets it and I'm too young to work. Not that anyone would hire a Shepard. The girls at school always talk about dieting. What new method is out, what types of foods make you slim, how often you should exercise. I make sure to join in.

Only I'm not eating because I care about my weight, I'm not eating because there's nothing _to_ eat. I may be a greaser, but I'm not into stealing. Why steal when you can make a boy dumb enough to make a play at Tim's kid sister get it for you?

That's why I wear dark eye makeup, clothes that are too mature for me, and hang with girls that are _far_ more experienced than I am. Because my reputation doesn't matter as much as being able to meet my basic needs.

I hear what the other girls say. They think I'm loose. Like my mom. Only no one is stupid enough to say that to my face. Because even though I'm a girl, I'm still a Shepard. I hate it that my brothers get to go where they want, do what they want, and get respected for it.

I know he'll never see it like I do, but Tim ruined any chance I had at redemption. I used to think he was me and Curly's dad when I was little. He was the one who took us to school, fed us, and made sure we knew how to fight.

I have to be tough because I'd be a sitting target if I wasn't. I'd like to date a nice boy and complain about how he doesn't spend enough time with me. I'd love to have such boring problems. Boring is safe. But that's not my life. All of the boring boys are too smart to give me a chance. I tried for Ponyboy once, but I was only fooling myself. His brothers told him I was bad news. That all Shepard's were bad news. They didn't have to tell him that though, I'm sure he was already thinking it.

I know Tim does what he does to take care of us, but I wish there was an easier way. Maybe that's why I give him so much trouble, because he's caused so much for me.


	5. Two-bit

_When no one believes in you, you don't believe in yourself._

 **Two-bit**

People don't understand that I have bad days. If I'm not laughing something _must_ be wrong. If I'm not telling jokes, I _must_ have drank too much. If I'm not cheering everybody up like a windup doll, then I must be too lazy to try. It's never because I'm down, because I'm stressed, because I have worries too.

I got back my math test today. 26%. I hate it when I _try_ and still manage to fail. Besides my mom and sister, everyone thinks I go to school for kicks. It's easier to pretend that that's the case when really it's because I'm just dumb. It's actually taking everything in me to graduate. And I do want to graduate.

The teachers just don't understand. My mom depends on tips to get us by on the bills. Those men who tip her, I know what they want from her. It's why I'm up half the night. I stay at Buck's to keep me awake until her shift is over, I'm outside of my mom's job everyday to take her home. To make sure no one gives her any trouble. There's been a few times I've had to fight a guy that couldn't take no for an answer. I would just tell the guys some tale about the Socs. I'm willing to bet my life that all of us have at least once used the Socs as a scape goat to hide something we didn't want to talk about.

Most people think I don't have a job, but I do. I keep Karen out of trouble, I make sure my mom is safe, and I make my own money. I'm a professional thief. I know it's wrong, but flipping stuff is quick money. And we need quick money. It's hard to stay focused on school when your lights might not be on when you get home.

I'm dreading going home and telling ma I failed another test. She'll just try to cheer me up even when she knows I'm a lost cause. The last time I failed a test this bad she tried to get me to go to tutorials. The only time I heeded her advice was in my freshman year of high school. My second freshman year of high school.

I woke up early and everything. I got there and the teacher never showed. It was no big deal. Stuff happens, but when I asked her about it in class, she said she thought I was kidding about getting my grade up. That I was never going to get if I hadn't already.

I laughed it off then, but it took Kathy three days to get me to tell her what was up with me. I was humiliated. She was the same lady at the beginning of the school year that said it was never too late to learn. I guess the joke was on me because I believed her.

I know I tell Johnny not to let his teachers get to him when they say things like that, but that's because I know Johnny really has a chance. He's a good kid. Not like me. I talk to much and don't listen half enough. I know my teachers think I'm a hopeless case, but as long as my mom doesn't, I'll try for her.


	6. Kathy

_**We have our disagreements, but we always understand each other.**_

Kathy

The silence in the car is stiff. Two-bit knows why I'm mad at him and it has nothing to do with him being 15 minutes late to pick me up. _Again_.

I found a tightly rolled poster of a pin-up girl in his glove compartment tucked behind some old car magazines. He knows how I feel about that. And what's worse is that he hid it.

"Kath. Are you really mad?"

"What do you think Two-bit? You know I hate stuff like that." Two-bit always calls me a feminist. I guess I am too. I have a lot of reasons to be. Besides the obvious that I'm a woman. It's not fair that I'm held to a higher standard than men, and they get to be great by being mediocre.

"I know you do, but it's a harmless photo."

"You know better Two. There's always a new story out about how Hollywood trick these women into poor contracts. Why do you need to look at a picture of a half naked woman anyway?"

"It's a guy thing Kath."

"It's a scum bag thing Keith."

We were silent for a few minutes before Two-bit pulled over into an empty parking lot. He just looked at me.

"I know it's not a good thing to do Kathy. I have a sister and a mom-" I elbowed him.

"And you. I don't want to be a scum bag. I don't want to be the type of guy that women are afraid of. Honestly, I was only looking."

"I know that Two-bit. It's just that when you look at those pictures. You don't really see a woman. They don't even advertise her as a woman. She's a product. A product that's being used to make men more money. I don't want you to see women as things. Things to be used up."

Two-bit knows why this is so important to me. I don't even have to explain it. Situations like this remind me of my dad. I'm not really sure how to feel about him and it worries me. I don't want to be in the position my mom is in. Thinking my dad is a good man because he's what society says is a good man. He works and he doesn't cheat. Most of the time he's okay. I think. It's just that sometimes he hits my mom. He doesn't do it often. Just every once in a while. The next day it's never spoken of and they go back to the status quo.

It's frustrating when I think about it. The things he gets mad at her over are things she can't even control. When I was little and would get sick he blamed her. When a bill wasn't missed he blamed her. Even though he is the only one with access to his money. My mom doesn't work. He doesn't let her. He wants to be the sole provider. He says it's a man's job.

He rarely ever yells, but his silence is so loud. My mom will try to talk to him sometimes at the dinner table when he's in a bad mood and he'll just pretend like he doesn't hear her. It's humiliating. Then she'll spend the rest of the night babying him until he comes around. His goal is to make her feel guilty about him having a bad day at work. He's good at it.

He's never hit me. Not ever. Not even almost. And that's what gets me. What if he could be a better husband if society didn't tell him he had the right to hit his wife for being "disobedient"? I don't want to make excuses for him, but I don't know. Most of the times he's okay. I think.

"Kathy. I'm not gonna turn into your dad." Two-bit was serious again. Like I said, he knows my story like I know his. I got a good one when I got Two-bit. Maybe because he's raised by his mom, but he agrees when I say women and men should be paid the same. Maybe its because he has a sister, but he understands when I say guys should get harsher punishments for rape. Maybe it's because he knows Johnny's dad that he tells me he will never hit me.

Whatever it is. I'm grateful. I'll never tell Two-bit, but I'm grateful for Johnny the most. I won't tell him because he might not understand it, but I'm grateful that he sees Mr. Cade and doesn't want to become him. That he sees how it effects the entire family.

That's why when I get paid I sometimes will give Two-bit money to buy Johnny lunch. I know he's never told Johnny. Johnny is proud. He wouldn't like it very much. The first time I did it, Two-bit just smiled at me. It was the brightest smile he'd ever given me. It was also the first time he told me I knew the score.

"I believe you Two-bit. Just get rid of the picture okay?" He broke into a smile.

"Deal."

We were in a comfortable silence until Two-bit broke it with his singing.

"Kathy and Keith sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Anyone on the outside looking in could only hear our laughter fill the car.


	7. Evie

Sorry it's been a while since I updated. I am working on two other stories right now. Thank you all for your continuing patience.

Same warnings apply

I do not own any part of The Outsiders

This story will be posted on my A03 account. I have the same name there too!

Please enjoy & **comment**

 **I am taking requests for future chapters**

1\. Give me a situation that has to do with **poverty** on here or on my tumblr:

 **2.** The character, family, or gang you want me to write about

 **3.** It can be a character I have already written about too

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Evie

I grew up in the same house as my mother and still haven't managed to get to know her.

She is always in and out. Of rooms. Of bottles. Of beds.

When she _was_ home, she was partying.

It was not unusual for me to wake up to a house full of people I had never met before. Strange men and women who were too old and had too much responsibility to be drinking at noon on a weekday.

Strange men and women who didn't think they needed to be at home with their _own_ children.

Strange men and women who thought it was okay to treat me, a child, like I was grown.

My mother never had much to say to me. Most of the time I believed she really did forget she ever had me. She's an alcoholic.

It has caused a lot of problems for me. It seems she never quite had enough money to put food into the house, but she always managed to keep the fridge stocked with beer. I try not to look too deep into things.

If I do, I'll start thinking again.

Thinking about how she used to at _least_ hide the alcohol from me. To when she would have at least _something_ to eat in the fridge. When there were no strange men and women littering and stinking up the house with their empty bottles, used cigarettes, and stray ash.

I tried so hard.

To help her.

To save her from herself.

But she would get so _angry_ and start throwing things at me. Telling me I was useless. That she was on her _own_ when she was my age. That one more smart word and I was out. One more time pouring out her hidden stash and I could just get my things and leave.

I know I have issues. Who doesn't?

I think sometimes the reason me and Randle work so well is because I have a deep-seated desire to take care of and rescue people, and he needs to feel needed. To feel necessary.

16 and already the products of our parents dysfunctional child-rearing.

We both have so much in common.

We tend to confuse pity with love. We avoid our own feelings while delving into each other's. We both have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility because we've had to raise ourselves.

Whenever I think about the times she was gone all weekend following a perpetual party, the times she would have loud sex in the room next to mines, when she would go on drinking binges and I had to stay in my room, I get so _angry_.

 _Fuck alcoholics for having children!_

The alcohol _always_ comes first and as time goes on it becomes the _only_ thing that matters. The children are no longer second place. Now they have _no_ place. The booze fills them up so much that there is no _room_ for us.

They are not capable of caring about us.

I learned to cuss before I learned to read. I recognized beer labels before the alphabet. I could distinguish the smell of alcohol and identify what it was without having ever seen the bottle before I could tie my shoes.

What kind of mother lets so many people into their house that their kid has to learn to keep her door locked?

The men, and sometimes even the women, would look at me funny. Their eyes would linger too long.

I had to teach herself how to find food.

There were always so _many_ bottles that I recycled them for change. It was enough for lunchmeat and bread.

I learned to fear sudden outburst.

I can't name how _many_ times I broke into a cold sweat when someone started laughing randomly. It was hard being around people like Two-bit and Soda. Upbeat people who didn't fear impulsive emotion.

It's days like these that I think I'll never be able to forgive my mother for her problem. For our problems.

The woman who gave birth to me at 15. The woman who was kicked out with me at 16. The woman who got a beaten down apartment and worked 2 jobs to support us.

Then it's days like those where I almost understand.


	8. Steve

Sorry for the long wait. I've been busy getting ready for school.

I do not own any part of The Outsiders

Please enjoy & **comment**

 **I am STILL taking requests for future chapters**

1\. Give me a situation that has to do with **poverty**

 **2.** The character, family, or gang you want me to write about

 **3.** It can be a character I have already written about too & if you don't want me to say who requested the topic let me know and I'll keep you anonymous J

 **As requested by** **BookEnchantress101** **here's Steve & his Dad. **

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 **You don't come back because** ** _they_** **care, you come back because** ** _you_** **care**

 **Steve**

The house was immaculate if not a little stale. We didn't have much in the way of things so there was never really anything to clean up to begin with. We never considered trying to "fix up" the place because what would be the point?

I heard him before I saw him.

The creak from his chair was accentuated by the silence in the house.

He stood 4 inches over me with a stockier build.

His muscles weren't polished from sports and working out like Darry's were. His came _strictly_ from years of street fights and strenuous manual labor in the oil field.

"Where the hell have you been?"

I could smell the beer on his breath and wasn't in the mood for it.

I moved to walk past him but he turned me around with a death grip on my arm.

"Got nothin' to say?"

"About what? I just got from work. You know that. You _should_ know that."

"Don't start with me boy!"

Aside from looks, I definitely got his temperament.

"You don't start with me! I just got off of work and-"

He backed me up into the living room.

"You think you're the only one that works or something? I had a job by the time I was 11. You ain't been working a good 2 years now. There's _nothing_ you can tell me about _work_!"

He always does this.

There's never anything I can tell him that he hasn't already done. Hadn't already overcome. Hadn't already thought about.

"I don't even know why I bother coming here. It's obvious you want me gone."

He stepped really close to me. His eyes narrowed and locked onto mines.

"If I'm so bad, why do you always come back?"

The words were stuck in the back of my throat. He had no problem talking however.

"You think you're so fucking independent.! You have a car and a job. What's stopping you from leaving huh?"

I broke eye contact first.

"I _never_ hit you! _I_ pay the bills. _I_ give you money. _I_ take care of you."

I tried to go to my room but he stopped me again.

"I'm the man of this house. Abide or get out!"

My breathing had picked up.

"Nothing to say? Exactly! I don't need _you_ , _you_ need _me_!"

It's like my throat had opened up.

"Then why _keep_ me? After mom left you could have pawned me off on somebody else."

"Because I'm your father."

He misses the point as usual. He can't tell that I'm being serious. That I really want to know why he kept me. If he can't stand me _so_ much, why not just take off? Plenty of fathers do it. He wouldn't be the first and certainly not the last.

His breathing matched mines now.

"I mean _why_. You always tell me how easier life would be for you if I wasn't around. Why not leave?"

He got a thoughtful look on his face. I could tell he was trying to formulate what he wanted to say.

"Your grandma took off with a trucker when I was 10. It was just me, your grandpa, and your uncle Jasper after that. I didn't go out and get a job at 11 because I loved to fucking work! I had _real_ responsibilities."

This was more than he had ever told me about his childhood before. It wasn't hard for me to shut up and listen.

"I fed me and Jas. I paid the light bill. All on an 11 year olds salary. You wanna know what your great old granddad did? He stayed around for about 2 years spending his checks on whores and tobacco. Did he care if we went without food or if our clothes were dirty and we got talked about? Hell no!"

I had always wondered why my dad never let me smoke in the house. Why he was so mad when I had started smoking. He certainly hadn't cared when he caught me drinking when I was 13. He didn't have many _outright_ rules, but no smoking in the house was one of them.

"And after 2 years of me scrapping to keep what was left of our family together, he split. In the middle of the fucking night at that."

He wasn't talking to me anymore. He was just venting. Letting out years of pent up anger.

"Me and Jas were sent to an orphanage until I turned 15 and got us out. We were the youngest ones there and there never seemed to be anyone watching us. I had to fight damn near everyday to make sure our shit didn't get stolen."

He looked tired. More tired than he had in years.

"Nobody helped me do shit. I _never_ stopped you from trying to take care of yourself. I helped you get your first car. I taught you how to drive. I never take any of your check. I pay all of the bills. You're so much like me and you can't even see it."

I did look at him again.

"You wouldn't last in a boy's home. Your too damn proud. And you wouldn't have anybody looking out for you like I had Jas. After your mother left I never even _thought_ about taking off. I laid down to make you and that's that. I do right by you. I let you make your own choices and all that shit!"

I finally saw our problem. It was so clear now. It's kind of laughable how simple it is really.

He's trying to make up for _his_ father's failings. He'll never see the $20 he leaves me as guilt money. He'll only ever think about how he had to fend for himself. How he had to work at 11 to buy day old bread and discount cheese to feed him and his kid brother.

He doesn't take stock in words. He'll believe it when he sees it. He's used to people making promises and not following through.

It's why he can call me _useless_ and a _drain_ on him and never understand why I take it to heart. To him they're _just_ words. He hasn't _actually_ left. He's never _really_ stopped me from coming home. He doesn't _hit_ me or anything.

It was so clear now.

Me and him would never get along because he will never see a problem with what he's doing, and I'll never have the nerve to tell him.

I kind of get it. Get him that is.

He stepped away from me and went back to his his chair. I went to my room and fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning to $20 on the kitchen table.

I pocketed it and got into my car.


End file.
